


simple geometry

by PunkHazard



Series: Synaesthesia [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8526196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: Hanzo first notices when he's three, probably, the memory being very fuzzy and somewhat distorted by age and time. The sensation of grabbing Yamashita-san's hand to descend a set of stairs, his tiny fingers searching for purchase on callused knuckles and slipping off the stump of the older man's pinky.





	

Hanzo first notices when he's three, probably, the memory being very fuzzy and somewhat distorted by age and time. The sensation of grabbing Yamashita-san's hand to descend a set of stairs, his tiny fingers searching for purchase on callused knuckles and slipping off the stump of the older man's pinky.

He'd wondered how it happened for a long time afterward, too polite even at that age to ask and inquiries to Father met with easy deflections. It isn't very long before he notices on others as well-- bodyguards, Shimada Group employees, at least one member of the board. Father has scars but none so standard as a missing pinky, and Hanzo's preoccupied with it for weeks, wondering often if and when he'll lose his own finger. He dreams one time of being held down while some faceless stranger saws it off. Another time, of the bones in his hand shattering, the pinky just sloughing off and dissolving altogether.

Genji's born weeks later, his arrival easily wiping out all anxiety over that particular quirk of the Shimada Group. The two of them have all ten fingers, all ten toes. Genji's perfect, tiny hands grasp tightly to Hanzo's and he cries when Hanzo has to go; no one else has the honor of having Genji's favorite thumb.

He stays obsessed with Hanzo's hands, prodding and poking at every new callus. When Hanzo's five and learning judo, the skin rubbed red and raw on his fingertips. When he's six and starts kendo, blisters on his palms and soles. Seven, archery-- skin ripped off their shooting fingers after hundreds of repetitions. Ninjutsu training is the common thread that binds all these lessons-- Genji loves smoke, acrobatics. Hanzo finds his specialty in espionage and assassination.

At eight their father allows Hanzo into his daily meetings, sitting silently in seiza as the Shimada patriarch discusses earnings, overhead, accounting.

Hanzo sees a man beg for his life at nine years old.

Father seems to consider it for a long moment until the man reaches behind his back and draws a tanto. Hanzo startles, but his father looks serenely on as the man (Hirose, if Hanzo remembers correctly), unfolds a white handkerchief and lays it on the mat before him. He places his hand palm-down on the cloth, and presses the edge of the knife to the joint of his pinky's first knuckle.

 _Oh,_  Hanzo thinks as Hirose presents his severed finger to Father, his own hands folded in his lap, _I see._

He tells Genji about it, because he tells Genji everything. Head pillowed in Hanzo's lap, Genji takes Hanzo's pinky gingerly with two fingers and wiggles it, tugging lightly at the joint as he turns Hanzo's hand in front of his face. "You think that'll ever happen to you?" he asks, releasing Hanzo and plucking at the collar of his own elementary school gakuran. "Or me?"

"Not unless we do something bad," Hanzo reassures him, ruffling Genji's hair. "Besides, I don't think Father would let us."

"Yeah," answers Genji, sounding relieved, brows unfurrowing at the familiar gesture. "I guess not."

* * *

Hanzo's twelve when he sees a man die.

Now accustomed to the daily meetings, he's preoccupied with his literature homework, due the day after to his private tutor. Halfway through the opening paragraph he's composing in his head, Nishimura falls to his knees, prostrating himself on the floor in front of Father. He'd screwed up somehow, a misplaced digit for some banking transaction that's got the PSIA digging into Shimada Group transactions. It's not the first time Nishimura's done this but looking at Father's calm little smile, Hanzo ignores the continuing exchange.

_The first protagonist of Harusame Monogatari begins his adventure in--_

"Nishimura," Father says, interrupting the man's groveling, "you had many chances to correct this error when you caught it, but you didn't. This isn't the first time you've done this."

_Ueda wrote Hankai's tale as a response to the circumstances of his own birth, which were--_

"You're not a stupid man," Father says, his voice low and smooth, "so that makes me believe you're doing this on purpose."

Nishimura's pleas turn to sobs and Hanzo looks at him, distaste on his face as the noise drowns out his own thoughts. He expects the man to whip out either a knife or a checkbook-- the Shimadas are traditional in many ways, but can usually be persuaded with a sufficient amount of money or enough severed digits. Father sighs, eyes flickering to one of the bodyguards standing by the door. "It's fine," he says. "Stand up."

Hanzo sees the guard reach under his jacket and closes his eyes.

What he remembers about that particular moment isn't the gunshot, the splatter, Nishimura's screams; it's the sound he hears breaking the silence after they all went quiet. Through the paper door behind him, a gasp. Father's eyes flicker down to Hanzo, boring into his, holding him in place. There's no patter of socked feet down the corridor, but Genji's presence is gone.

Later, Hanzo will find him agitated and disturbed, too young at nine to truly understand why the man had to die. Nishimura was nice to Genji, gave him snacks, brought him and Hanzo to the shrine for the new year and presented them each with a hefty otoshidama. He was a reliable arm of the Shimada Group until he became an informant for the Japanese government. Hanzo learns the lesson well: the price for betrayal is death.

"Genji," he says, shading his eyes as he regards their training ground, no brother in sight. "If you have to spy, you can't give yourself away like that. Genji, come out."

Genji melts out of the shadows behind a stone wall, his shoulders drooping. He goes to Hanzo, shivering as he nestles under his arm like a bird come home to roost.

"Father heard you," Hanzo scolds, "and I bet some of the others did, too."

Looking up at him, Genji pouts, his cheeks puffing in consternation. His eyes and nose are red but the shaking stops, Hanzo's hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. "He's dead?" Genji asks, burying his face against Hanzo's shoulder, the stiff collar of his school uniform digging uncomfortably into Hanzo's arm. He must have just come home, then been distracted by the commotion on his way to the kitchen for a snack. The question is muffled against the fabric of Hanzo's gi: "Nishimura-san is dead?"

"He's dead," Hanzo confirms, pulling away from Genji to look closely at his face, hands cupping his jaw as he slides the pads of his thumbs across his little brother's cheeks, rubbing away any evidence of his distress. "You heard Father. He was an informant."

The idea that their calm, indulgent father would be capable of ordering another man's death is almost inconceivable to Genji and he shakes his head, trying to pull away. Hanzo takes his hands instead, squeezing hard enough to ground him before letting go. "So what's gonna happen?" Genji asks, eyes wide. "Are they just gonna leave him there?"

Hanzo puts him in a headlock. "Obviously not."

Genji doesn't struggle as he usually does, only puts his hands on Hanzo's forearm and asks, "Are we gonna have to do that someday?"

"Who knows," answers Hanzo, eyeing the man-shaped straw dummies pincushioned with arrows, studded with shuriken. The posts several more targets used to be tied to, covered in slashes from their blades.

What did Genji think they were being prepared to do?

* * *

Their parents leave for Hawaii a week after Hanzo's twentieth birthday, Father handing the reins of the Shimadagumi over to Hanzo for the month or so they'll be touring the islands. Hanzo's been sitting in on meetings for over a decade, offering his opinions for three years and practically running them for the last six months. Genji sits in as he often does nowadays, only under food bribes as he's always sure to remind Hanzo. He occasionally leans over to whisper to his brother, casting contemptuous looks at some of the lower-level goons trying to curry Hanzo's favor.

It's just the right shade of intimidating, the youngest Shimada easily giving off an aura of authority and clout when he mostly just mutters banalities into Hanzo's ear, trying to make him laugh.

('They changed the miso ramen recipe at Rikimaru,' he says once, 'it's different now and I'm not sure if I like it.')

(Another time: 'I think I found some spoiled natto in the back of our freezer. Isn't that nuts? What could possibly happen to natto that hasn't already happened to it?')

A week into their parents' vacation, Hanzo calls the meeting an hour earlier than usual, dragging Genji out of bed well before his alarm goes off. He looks agitated, kneeling by the futon and shaking Genji by the shoulders until he blinks fully awake. 

"What," says Genji, squinting at his brother as he checks the time on his phone. "Brother, did you know it's the weekend?"

"Get dressed. We found the mole."

They've been trying to root out a mole for weeks now, someone passing information to a rival group trying to elbow in on Shimada territory. With their father on vacation, Hanzo had hoped that they would grow careless enough to be caught, and he was right. Some part of him is uneasy, knowing the consequences; the rest of him is proud-- for his foresight, his strategy, his timing.

Groaning, Genji lets his forehead thump against Hanzo's shoulder, his body going petulantly limp while his brother tries to push him upright again. "Can't we let Father deal with it when he gets home?"

"I called him. He says that I'm going to handle it."

Genji sits up, suddenly wide awake. "Go ahead," he sighs, tossing his blanket aside and stumbling to his closet, "I'll be out in five minutes."

Hanzo pushes himself to his feet and heads for the door, long strides taking him into the corridor and toward the great hall, calmer now that Genji's promised to be there. For all his shirking, delinquency and partying, his brother has always had his back.

True to his word, Genji trails in after Hanzo, adjusting the neckline of his gi as he settles into seiza next to him. The door opposite them slides open, a young man stepping through. He's wearing a cheap suit that's too wide across the shoulders and droopy elsewhere, a dark stain on the collar of his white shirt, his face bruised. Genji grins, waving at the new arrival-- he'd asked for a position with the Shimadas and had been given one nearly a year ago. "Yo, Eiji!"

The hard look Hanzo turns on him catches him completely off guard, but he schools his expression past the surprise and glances around the room, gauging the faces of bodyguards and clan advisers in attendance. Kogawa Eiji's always been friendly to Genji, closer in age to him than most of the clan. Friendly and polite, if twitchy, and Genji had always appreciated his presence.

"Oh," he whispers, catching the grim look on Hanzo's face. "Brother, no. He wouldn't."

"He did."

"He's too spineless," Genji hisses. "He wouldn't."

Not as spineless as he looks, Hanzo wants to tell him. He'd caved at the first threat, then turned into a willing pawn once the money started flowing into his bank account. Hanzo has the statements to prove it, on top of video and audio recordings. Maybe don't let money change hands in a club staffed and owned by a Shimada shell corporation. "You know the consequences," he says. It won't be the first time Hanzo has watched a man die; it won't be the last.

Genji's no stranger to it either, immersed in the family business no matter how much he tries to avoid it. The Shimadas _are_ Hanamura; he's done his share of negotiating and intimidation, mostly a result of being in the right (wrong) place at the right (wrong) time. Gunfights are rare in Japan, but at least one incident involving his bodyguard and the young heir of another clan had ended in a brief shootout (no casualties), and he's personally cut down at least two intruders to the estate-- assassins from another clan he ran into on his way home from a night out.

Hanzo is hesitating though, caught in this situation for the first time without their father. Genji reaches for his hand, fingers brushing over his knuckles as he leans in, chin brushing the stiff neck of Hanzo's gi as he whispers, "I trust you, brother. I know you'll do what's right."

He's not sure whether that means Genji expects him to spare Kogawa or if he thinks he'll do as their father would, but Genji's words steady his heart and quiet his mind, briefly allowing enough clarity for Hanzo to ask, "Why?"

"I wanted to help my family," Eiji says, voice quavering.

Not a bad start. Hanzo rubs his chin, thumb scratching a mosquito bite on the edge of his jaw. "And if they were being threatened," he says, "why didn't you come to us?"

Kogawa doesn't answer, looking deeply ashamed of himself.

Inter-family conflicts are easier to solve, and much lower stake than clashes with the government. Things could have ended much worse than they did, and there could be some benefit to keeping him around. "The information that you gave them," Hanzo probes, "what did they do with it?"

"They didn't tell me much about that," Kogawa says, his voice low. "But I picked up on some chatter when I was around."

Smiling, Hanzo settles back. Genji relaxes beside him, catching the relieved expression on his face. Information for his life-- that's a fair enough exchange, especially if it can be of some use to the family. Hanzo has never _liked_ this aspect of leading the organization-- killing a stranger who wants you dead is one thing, but someone he's known, spoken to, had dinner with-- whose parents he's sent fruit baskets and flowers to. That's a different story. "And if we accept you back into the Shimada Group," Hanzo says, "you'll tell us?"

"Are you making me a better offer?"

Genji closes his eyes, every scrap of restraint at work to keep him from begging Hanzo for Kogawa's life. He can't question his brother in front of all their men; if his big brother and _future head of the house_  relents, Hanzo will be seen as weak. If he ignores Genji, they'll show conflict and weakness in the ranks.

Hanzo forces an easy smile, gesturing magnanimously toward the door. "We will discuss this after you've had a meal and a change of clothes."

Kogawa bows briefly before he stands, turning his back to Hanzo as he heads for the door. Genji looks sideways, head shaking minutely as his brother makes eye contact with a bodyguard and discreetly slices his thumb across his neck. Sakamoto reaches inside his blazer.

Sakamoto, who'd been part of Father's security detail for nearly a decade, who'd meet Genji outside the clubs he's started to frequent to drive him home, who'd always stop by Rikimaru and pick an order up for him while Genji waited in the car-- _that_  Sakamoto presses the barrel of his automatic pistol to Kogawa's temple and pulls the trigger.

Hanzo blinks, eyes narrowing slightly as he regards the spatter of blood on tatami. "Clean that up," he says to the henchmen, pulling a silent Genji to his feet and steering him out of the meeting hall.

"We couldn't have someone like that in the family," Hanzo says in the privacy of his own room, Genji staring at him with a wounded, wary expression on his face. "We need loyalty. People who conduct themselves with honor and dignity. Not cowards who sell themselves to the highest bidder."

"I know," Genji says.

"We didn't pull the trigger," Hanzo says. "We don't have to clean up."

Genji takes a deep, shuddery breath. He cants his head forward, then smiles, so suddenly that Hanzo nearly flinches at the abrupt change. "You did what you felt was just, brother. I understand."

"Good," says Hanzo, relieved, reaching for his shoulder, "so you realize that _we_  don't actually do anything."

Genji steps away, eyes on Hanzo's raised hand. "Yeah," he says. "Good."


End file.
